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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945633">From Fire to Water</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grond/pseuds/Grond'>Grond</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Afterlife, Animals, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Elves, First Age, Gen, Halls of Mandos, Healing, Implied Sauron Being an Asshole, Recovery, Silmarils, Transformation, Werewolves, Wolves, Years of the Trees</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:55:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,011</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grond/pseuds/Grond</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maddened by swallowing the Silmaril, Carcharoth dies, slain in his battle with Huan. Death should be the end—but unexpectedly, he is about to embark upon a new journey, with a shadowy wolf by his side.</p>
<p>Based on the concept of <a href="https://foxleycrow.tumblr.com/post/626209664783286272/heres-my-concept-art-for-elf-carcharoth-since">these sketches</a> I drew.</p>
<p>[Revised 9/5/20.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Tolkien Crack Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>From Fire to Water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The jewel burned. The pain of it gathered in his belly, seething there, then spread throughout his body, into each limb and across the entirety of his skin. It rushed down his tail and up into his ears. It was as if he had swallowed a pale fire that could travel through blood. It was scorching and freezing in one. He saw through a haze, light clouding his vision. He had been injured many times before, in fights with his fellow wolves, or when disciplined by his master, but never had he felt an agony so intense. His mind burned like his body, and his thoughts were afire. Why—why had this curse come upon him? First, there had been the sweet and familiar taste of fresh flesh—then, the hard knot of the stone that seared him. He could not cough it up or dislodge it or overcome it in any way. It was trapped within him, and he burned. The anger in it. The jewel was angry. He was angry, and hurt.</p>
<p>Where was his master to provide aid? Master was nowhere to be found. Without guidance, he began to run, but he did not know where he was heading. He sought salvation. Something to free him from the weight of the jewel or put out the fire that burned within him. Anything to relieve the pain. The world, his life, had dwindled to that singular urge: to end his anguish. So he ran, charging through the brush, breaking down trees that stood in his way, rushing toward a goal he could only hope for and could not guess the location of. </p>
<p>He had always been proud in himself: Carcharoth, the greatest of wolves, with the greatest of destinies. That was what Master had told him. He had believed himself strong, clever, and swift, the equal of every foe, victor of every fight. What could the greatest wolf do against a foe that burned inside him? He could not do battle with it. He could howl and keep running. In the course of his flight, living creatures fell into his path. Any that he saw, he leapt upon and tore open with his jaws. Blood fountained, and he gulped it down eagerly, in hopes that the liquid would quench the inner fire threatening to consume him. Flesh had no taste now. One kind was no different than another—it did not matter if he ate deer or bear, Elf or Dwarf, Man or Orc.</p>
<p>No amount of running or blood brought him relief, but that did not stop him. He would tear through the entire world if he had to; he would fight and bite his way beyond it, to reach a place where he could find respite. If there was any such place, he would find it. The world no longer mattered to him, and neither did anything in it. The air smelled like fire and blood, and he tasted both on the air. The wind against his muzzle did not help him. It felt like an affront and maddened him further. </p>
<p>Carcharoth's flight was uninterrupted until he ran directly into a barrier he could not see. He drew up short with a low growl. He had felt what seemed to be the air itself repulse him as if it were solid, the first obstacle that had been able to delay his fast passage. Undeterred, he pushed against it again, and it pushed back. Challenged by his rage, it let off a faint, golden glow of protest that sparkled in the air. He did not pause to consider what it was. It was in his way. He had to keep running, or the pain would overtake him. He crouched, gathering strength, then lunged forward, hurling himself against the strange, invisible wall. It strained against his weight and will, its gold glow intensifying. Carcharoth realized he, too, was glowing, white light pouring from his mouth and drowning out the gold blocking his way with the sheer intensity of its brightness. The golden light shimmered, flickered, and then gave way, ripping like a fine cloth, letting him tear through with all his anger and hunger. </p>
<p>The woods beyond were cooler, deeper, but they did not assuage the heat of the fire causing him such agony. His surroundings did not matter. He was barely aware of them, not responding unless something moved and he crashed his jaws upon it, hoping by chance or miracle to bite into relief. Would he run this way forever? His jaws hung open, and blood and fire poured from them: one dark, the other bright. </p>
<p>He ran until he was no longer Carcharoth. He was no longer Sauron's servant, or a wolf. He was a vessel for fire and fate. What was the wood? It did not matter. He would destroy the wood and all that lived within it. Arrows sprang from the trees and sought his hide, but those that managed to strike him as he moved with such speed and violence simply fell away. They lay useless on the ground, and he did not notice them. As hurt as he was, he did not weaken. The fire both harmed and fueled him. He ran faster. </p>
<p>Carcharoth was not conscious of anything again until he saw the Dog. A bright shape, pale fur shining, the Dog emerged from the shadows of the trees and bared its teeth. Carcharoth halted, surprised to find himself aware, capable of a thought as clear as <i>Dog</i>. The Dog was here, and he remembered it. His reason had not returned to him, but his fate had. He tensed, growling. Here was something definite he could focus on. Fighting could distract him from pain. He snarled. The Dog snarled. Carcharoth had killed so many creatures that he was certain he could kill one more. He could kill them all. He would, if that could end his suffering.</p>
<p>He was so overcome by the burning jewel within him that the Dog's teeth breaking his skin barely registered. He could fight on as if he felt no pain, because he was already filled with pain. An increase made no noticeable difference. Soon he and the Dog were both streaked with blood, and Carcharoth had no way of knowing how much was his and how much belonged to his opponent. No injury slowed him, because he was unaware of how injured he was. Perhaps if he killed this Dog, that could release him. Then he would be free. His jaws closed on its throat, seeking blood, seeking triumph, seeking freedom, seeking death, and then—</p>
<p>Then there was nothing. For a long time, nothing. Not even darkness, which would have been as familiar to him as his master's shadows. Carcharoth did not feel anything so definite as relief, but after such intense and lasting pain, absence was welcome. To see and be nothing. To have and want nothing. He did not know how much time passed, because time would have been something.</p>
<p>A voice sounded in his mind. <i>You've come a far way</i>. It was foreign to him, but he could understand it easily. It was as much a feeling as a collection of words. There was a softness to it, which was strange. He was unused to softness.</p>
<p>Carcharoth did not respond. He was wary. He wanted to go back to nothing, where there had been no hurt.</p>
<p><i>Look what was done to you—and for what reason?</i> The same voice spoke again, but with an additional emotion: displeasure.</p>
<p> Carcharoth remained silent, stubbornly. He had no will to stop being nothing. </p>
<p>The voice insisted. <i>Wake, now. The path has been long, but it is time.</i></p>
<p>It was a difficult voice to disobey. It reminded him of his master's voice in that respect, but otherwise, it could not have been more unlike his master's. He did not choose to open his eyes, but suddenly the world around him was visible to him. He found himself in a dark cave, lit by a soft, pale light. He turned, gaze searching the cave walls, but he could not find the source of the light. Nor the source of the voice. He heard water nearby: like the current of a subterranean spring. He smelled salt on the air. These surroundings were unfamiliar to him, and this cave was unlike his master's caves, but he did not feel alarmed. He was curious. He had no sense of danger, and the pain was thankfully gone. Had the jewel left him? He should never have swallowed it.</p>
<p>
  <i>Carcharoth. An unlikely name. Yet fitting, for a time.</i>
</p>
<p>So the voice knew him. "It is mine," he said. </p>
<p>
  <i>You may keep it. No one will seek to take it from you, odd as it may be for you to bear it.</i>
</p>
<p>He growled, confused by this response. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Where are you?" How could he trust this voice? He did not know who it belonged to or what they wanted.</p>
<p>A gray shape appeared before him, solidifying slowly, as if the dim light of this place was gathering into a single form. As he watched it coalesce, it became identifiable: a wolf. Like himself. It was the largest wolf he had ever seen, standing head and shoulders above him. Its muzzle was open wide enough for him to see how its teeth gleamed like stars. Its head was turned to face him, but he could not see its eyes, as if they had failed to take shape along with the rest of its body. Where its eyes should have been, there were only shadows.</p>
<p>"Walk with me," said the wolf. It spoke aloud now, rather than into his mind. He liked that better. It was easier to bear.</p>
<p>"Walk where?"</p>
<p>"Come. You will see," said the wolf. In a way, it reminded him of his father. Father was dead now, but Carcharoth had trusted him and followed him, when he had been a small wolf. His instinct now was to follow again. As the strange wolf turned and began to walk away, he padded after him obediently. This place was so quiet. At first, all he could hear were the clicking of their claws on the surface of the stone beneath their feet, and the faint sounds of hidden water running.</p>
<p>They walked for a long time. Carcharoth had no sense of where they were, where they were going, or how far they had travelled. For a long time, Carcharoth said nothing, but kept pace with the wolf ahead of him. There was no haste in their movements. This was so unlike Carcharoth's burning, bloody race through the forests. He was calm. He no longer thirsted. His mind was clear, and he was very aware of his surroundings. The stone walls gleamed, blue and gray. Here and there, a crystal glowed. The caves appeared endless. Every so often, Carcharoth heard a distant echo, as of voices calling from far away. It made his ears twitch, but he could not determine the nature of the sounds or which direction they came from. Sometimes it sounded like—singing? The farther they went, the more often he heard the songlike sounds, but they did not become clearer. </p>
<p>Carcharoth's body began to feel light. His limbs ached, marking the first time he had felt physical discomfort since he had awakened in the cave. He started to question himself for following this unknown wolf, and he stopped. "Who are you?" he finally asked again. He gave a start when he heard his own voice. It sounded alien to his ears, so quiet and smooth.</p>
<p>"Who are you, Carcharoth?" was the reply from the other wolf, who had come to a halt before him.</p>
<p>He already knew who he was. "I am first among the wolves," he said. Yet he did not think he ruled over this particular wolf.</p>
<p>"Is that so? Or is that what you were told?"</p>
<p>Carcharoth growled, then blinked. His growl, too, had softened unexpectedly.</p>
<p>"You have done much evil, but it was at another's bidding, and because of the great harm that was done to you. See—I have mended what I can, but the work is far from finished."</p>
<p>Carcharoth looked down at himself. Was he still covered in light and blood? He was surprised to find his entire body altered. It glowed, but was no longer solid; he could see through it to the rock surface beyond. Its very shape had changed: it was smaller and leaner, stripped of fur. Instead of his usual paws and claws, he had fingers and hands. He was standing on his back legs, and his forelegs had become arms. When had that happened? He had been walking for so long, but he had noticed no change until now. He held out his arms before him and spread his fingers wide. "What have you done?" he demanded, but he still did not feel alarmed so much as confused.</p>
<p>When he looked up again, the other wolf had transformed as well. It had taken on a tall, Elf-like form, robed and hooded. From beneath the hood, a silvery light glowed. "Done? What you see is your fëa, Carcharoth. I did not do anything to you, but another did."</p>
<p>Carcharoth did not understand, and he growled again. "I must go," he said.</p>
<p>"Go where?" asked the figure, calmly.</p>
<p>"To my master. He will want me."</p>
<p>"Your work for him is done, and your fate fulfilled. A loyal servant for a poor master. You cannot return to him, no matter how much you wish it." The figure spoke gravely, but plainly. There was no anger in the words. "Tell me, do you truly wish to go back there?"</p>
<p>Carcharoth had never been faced with such a question. What did it matter what he wished? He was meant to serve his master. Now that he was freed of the burning fire within him, he could go back where he belonged. Would his master be pleased, or angry? He had fought the Dog, and he had drawn its blood, but he did not know if he had won the fight. He had lost his master's jewel, but he had not meant to. He had always sought to serve him well.</p>
<p>The figure pushed back its hood, revealing a hard face that radiated silver light—although its eyes were still unseen, as if a shadow rested before them. In spite of the veiled eyes, Carcharoth had never been subjected to such a keen gaze. "My name is Námo, and I am lord here—not your master. He has been here before, and he was subject to my rule. Do you know why you are here, Carcharoth?"</p>
<p>Carcharoth could not answer, too unhappy and bewildered, so he growled softly again. Námo did not appear to take offense, and answered his own question. "These are the Halls of Awaiting, where Elves and Men come to prepare for their afterlives." </p>
<p>He had never heard of such a place, and he did not know why he would be here. "I am not Man or Elf."</p>
<p>Námo watched him in silence for several long moments. His stern expression softened slightly. It was like a stone softening. "It is hard to hear you say that. Come. Rise, and take my hand, Carcharoth." </p>
<p>Carcharoth hesitated, but he extended an arm. When he reached out, he frowned at the unfamiliar hand that was now his. It had four long fingers and a thumb, all joined by a broad palm. Its smooth skin glowed from within. It was like an Elven hand, but transparent. Yet it felt solid enough when enclosed in Námo's hand. </p>
<p>Námo's grip was firm. "You are tired, I know. You need rest and refreshment. We have come a long way, but we have almost arrived. A little farther now. Follow me."</p>
<p>Carcharoth had not realized he was tired until the words had been spoken. Then he felt the weight of weariness bear down on him. "Follow where?" he asked, although he was not protesting. He found it difficult to object to Námo's requests, as following them felt natural and even enjoyable. </p>
<p>Námo regarded him for another long moment before he replied, "Where the Elves go." </p>
<p>At the words, understanding washed over Carcharoth like a cold wave, as if an underground spring had risen to cleanse him. <i>Where the Elves go</i>. That was where he belonged. As the thought swept into his mind, he saw actual water glittering on the floor before him. The hidden spring had finally, truly come to him, welling up from the ground, enveloping his feet and rising to cover his ankles. There was relief, chill and sweet, like a long drink. </p>
<p>And <i>oh</i>— A memory returned to him, from so very long ago. He felt cool grass beneath his skin, and a soft breeze played with the strands of his hair. His eyes were closed, and when he opened them, his first sight was of a sky spangled with stars like jewels. Their light spilled down and filled him with wonder. His name was not Carcharoth, not yet. He sat up and then rose to his feet, without taking his gaze from the sky. He spread his arms wide, so the light could cover his palms. The starlight washed over him, and his skin absorbed it. He became starlight, and the starlight became him, and he knew that Arda was beautiful. In his distant memory, he smiled for the first time in his life. In the Halls of Mandos, he smiled for the first time in many long years. The deep shadows that lay between the first memory and the current moment were banished by a surge of light. </p>
<p>Námo kept hold of his hand. Carcharoth stepped forward, both in his memory of the ancient past and in the present Halls of Mandos. The water grew deeper, but he was not afraid. He knew it would not harm him, and he knew that it would purify him. He took another step.</p>
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